The Wrong Track
Believe it or not, this entry isn't about the USA under George W. Bush. 
The evening began like any other; I took a shuttle from work to Ruggles to catch the 4:19 train to Franklin. It was raining, and the air was uncomfortably sticky.
At 4:19 a train pulled into the station. I wasn't the only passenger who was surprised; there were five or six two-level cars, as well as a couple of single-level ones. Now, the Franklin train almost never has two-level cars; it invariably had only five single-level cars, with the exception of a couple of times when the train broke down and was replaced with a substitute. So we tried to find a conductor to confirm that this was the Franklin train.
A few of the passengers went onboard and managed to find a conductor. They brought back bad news: it was the Needham Heights train, apparently six minutes late. I had a horrible suspicion, and looked at the opposite, inbound side of the tracks. Sure enough, another train had quietly pulled in on that side, and as we passengers headed towards it, it started up and pulled away.
William, the biggest bastard-conductor on the entire line, pointedly ignored the thirty or so passengers who called out to him, asking which train it was. Another conductor took pity on us and said "Franklin!". But despite the pleas of the passengers, the train didn't stop. To say that the thirty of us were angry would be a huge understatement.
Just to be clear, NO conductor from the Franklin train came out to announce its destination.
So a number of us called the MBTA. We got the usual kiss-off, of course. They didn't even ask my name or number when I made the complaint. One of the passengers noticed that there was a 4:30 train leaving South Station which would go right through Ruggles without stopping, so I asked if it would be possible to have that train make a stop for us - I assured the operator that there were at least 30 people stranded. The answer, of course, was that that was totally impossible
The next Franklin train scheduled to stop at Ruggles was the 5:19. So we settled down for an uncomfortable hour-long wait. There are no benches at Ruggles, of course, and no air conditioning; the place is filthy. A lot of us talked among ourselves. One older man was quite angry; he'd come into the city to go to the hospital, and was disabled. His brother was with him, with one arm in a sling. Some of the passengers left to find other means of transportation.
One woman went upstairs and got the name and number of Stephen Jones, the Commuter Rail Chief, and called his "Write to the Top" number. She didn't get much satisfaction. I called too, a little later, and was eventually dumped not into voice mail, but into Operations. I told the operator that thirty people were stranded at Ruggles. She promptly dumped me into the Complaints line without a word of warning. Again, I got no satisfaction.
So for a miserable hour the remained - twenty or so, at a guess - talked about just how irritated we were at the MBTA. I heard some stories about William the conductor that surprised even me.
(Incidentally, another William story, one that I personally witnessed: he pulled his usual disappearing act a couple of weeks ago, making a single pass through the car after Ruggles and then vanishing for the rest of the trip. Once again, someone paid the price for his failure to do his job - a businessman wasn't able to get off at his stop, since the train started moving too soon. It wasn't that he was too slow, mind you; he was less than a second behind the previous person. It's just that William wasn't there to confirm that everyone was off. Which was, of course, his job.)
The story I heard from a woman tonight was that on a particularly hot day, William insisted on keeping the doors of the cars shut - even though the temperature inside reached over 100 degrees. One man opened the door, to get a little breeze, and William came stamping back, angrily closed the door, and ordered the man to keep it closed. As soon as he moved out of sight, though, the man opened the door again. This happened over and over; the man opening the door, William angrily closing it. Finally the man got off, and William...left the door open. A woman who'd been watching this and getting angrier and angrier at William's behavior asked for his name and badge number. He told her point-blank that he didn't have to tell her any of that. Later, she called and complained, and was told that he was, in fact, required by company rules to give his name and number.
Back to today. At 5:24 the 5:19 Franklin train stopped at Ruggles. There were, of course, not enough seats. And it was announced as we got on that the train would be making extra stops, so we'd be still later. I didn't get a seat until two stops before my own. I was awfully glad to see Teri and Sebastian waiting for me at the station - an hour and a half later than I was supposed to.
I plan to make a number of phone calls about this. I have the number of someone higher up the the MBCR, and I plan to use it. This was, as the disabled man said, "complete bullshit".
The evening began like any other; I took a shuttle from work to Ruggles to catch the 4:19 train to Franklin. It was raining, and the air was uncomfortably sticky.
At 4:19 a train pulled into the station. I wasn't the only passenger who was surprised; there were five or six two-level cars, as well as a couple of single-level ones. Now, the Franklin train almost never has two-level cars; it invariably had only five single-level cars, with the exception of a couple of times when the train broke down and was replaced with a substitute. So we tried to find a conductor to confirm that this was the Franklin train.
A few of the passengers went onboard and managed to find a conductor. They brought back bad news: it was the Needham Heights train, apparently six minutes late. I had a horrible suspicion, and looked at the opposite, inbound side of the tracks. Sure enough, another train had quietly pulled in on that side, and as we passengers headed towards it, it started up and pulled away.
William, the biggest bastard-conductor on the entire line, pointedly ignored the thirty or so passengers who called out to him, asking which train it was. Another conductor took pity on us and said "Franklin!". But despite the pleas of the passengers, the train didn't stop. To say that the thirty of us were angry would be a huge understatement.
Just to be clear, NO conductor from the Franklin train came out to announce its destination.
So a number of us called the MBTA. We got the usual kiss-off, of course. They didn't even ask my name or number when I made the complaint. One of the passengers noticed that there was a 4:30 train leaving South Station which would go right through Ruggles without stopping, so I asked if it would be possible to have that train make a stop for us - I assured the operator that there were at least 30 people stranded. The answer, of course, was that that was totally impossible
The next Franklin train scheduled to stop at Ruggles was the 5:19. So we settled down for an uncomfortable hour-long wait. There are no benches at Ruggles, of course, and no air conditioning; the place is filthy. A lot of us talked among ourselves. One older man was quite angry; he'd come into the city to go to the hospital, and was disabled. His brother was with him, with one arm in a sling. Some of the passengers left to find other means of transportation.
One woman went upstairs and got the name and number of Stephen Jones, the Commuter Rail Chief, and called his "Write to the Top" number. She didn't get much satisfaction. I called too, a little later, and was eventually dumped not into voice mail, but into Operations. I told the operator that thirty people were stranded at Ruggles. She promptly dumped me into the Complaints line without a word of warning. Again, I got no satisfaction.
So for a miserable hour the remained - twenty or so, at a guess - talked about just how irritated we were at the MBTA. I heard some stories about William the conductor that surprised even me.
(Incidentally, another William story, one that I personally witnessed: he pulled his usual disappearing act a couple of weeks ago, making a single pass through the car after Ruggles and then vanishing for the rest of the trip. Once again, someone paid the price for his failure to do his job - a businessman wasn't able to get off at his stop, since the train started moving too soon. It wasn't that he was too slow, mind you; he was less than a second behind the previous person. It's just that William wasn't there to confirm that everyone was off. Which was, of course, his job.)
The story I heard from a woman tonight was that on a particularly hot day, William insisted on keeping the doors of the cars shut - even though the temperature inside reached over 100 degrees. One man opened the door, to get a little breeze, and William came stamping back, angrily closed the door, and ordered the man to keep it closed. As soon as he moved out of sight, though, the man opened the door again. This happened over and over; the man opening the door, William angrily closing it. Finally the man got off, and William...left the door open. A woman who'd been watching this and getting angrier and angrier at William's behavior asked for his name and badge number. He told her point-blank that he didn't have to tell her any of that. Later, she called and complained, and was told that he was, in fact, required by company rules to give his name and number.
Back to today. At 5:24 the 5:19 Franklin train stopped at Ruggles. There were, of course, not enough seats. And it was announced as we got on that the train would be making extra stops, so we'd be still later. I didn't get a seat until two stops before my own. I was awfully glad to see Teri and Sebastian waiting for me at the station - an hour and a half later than I was supposed to.
I plan to make a number of phone calls about this. I have the number of someone higher up the the MBCR, and I plan to use it. This was, as the disabled man said, "complete bullshit".